


Poised To Go Splat

by GothMoth



Series: Ectobers Ectoplasmic Splatters [39]
Category: Danny Phantom
Genre: Dissolving, Don't Drink Glow Sticks Kids, Gen, School Dances, Vomiting, danny's a little shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:14:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27202310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GothMoth/pseuds/GothMoth
Summary: Casper high, predictably, can’t even have a normal dance without it getting interrupted by something ecto.
Series: Ectobers Ectoplasmic Splatters [39]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1511411
Comments: 16
Kudos: 123





	Poised To Go Splat

**Author's Note:**

> Ectober Week 2020: Fog/Splatter   
> (Also Works For: Darkness/Poison and Glow Stick/REDRUM

Danny pushes in the gymnasium doors, drink -which is, in his opinion, unfortunately non-alcoholic punch- already in hand. Side-stepping and leaning against the wall purely to watch the pulsing, flashing, moving strobe lights and laser beams bouncing off and curving over people glowing bright neons thanks to the blacklight. Excluding that light, it was borderline pitch-black; which he finds he’s perfectly content with. Being able to see in even absolute dark and all that. Honestly, this would probably look cooler _without_ his fantastic night vision. Seeing as everyone else probably can’t see the turned off ceiling lights or teachers dressed in dark colours hanging out watching the dance. But fuck, at least his parents aren’t here this time. Lancer is, but Lancer’s probably the only teacher left who doesn’t hate his entire being, guts, and continued existence. 

Looking around at the decorations as he wanders aimlessly over to the food table, thank everything the theme was Creepy Critters, guess the school and town were _finally_ tiring of making goddamn _everything_ ghost-themed. Sure it was funny and ironic at first -honestly come on, a _ghost_ going to _ghost-themed_ events? HILARIOUS- but things lose that little spark of novelty real quick. Especially when you are a ghost -or half of one at least-, are surrounded by and fighting other ghosts, have ghost hunters for parents and friends, and live in the most haunted town in the world. Ghosts were their _thing_ but nobody likes a one-trick pony, _especially_ the people living with said pony. Now what does ponies have to do with the current Halloween Casper high ball and him acquiring fake cheesy snacks? Absolutely nothing. He’s not even wearing a pony costume. Sure he thought about it, FrightKnight would argue that undead alicorns absolutely _do_ count as a creepy critter, but Danny’s pretty sure that’s not what the school was going for here. 

Needless to say, Danny’s rocking a pretty solid -if he says so himself- raven costume. And sure, maybe it was glowing all by itself and maybe the feathers were just slightly sentient and made of black moulded ectoplasm, but it’s not like anyone here’s going to notice that. Danny is _exceptionally_ experienced with what people will and will not notice in this school and town. Regardless, he gets his hands on his sweet cheesy puffs... and is instantly disappointed they got the no-name brand. Those things were so greasy they legitimately tasted like straight-up flavourless grease, just with a side of cheese. Like someone poured grease into a mould, filled it with air to make it puffy ‘n shit, and then sprinkled some cheese on top like an afterthought. Needless to say, he eats an entire handful. Danny Fenton-Phantom is not a man -teen, whatever- of refined tastes or any large amount of standards. He’ll eat cheese-flavoured grease, he’ll do it _gladly_. 

Deciding to meander onto the dance floor aka the centre of the gym, to enjoy the light show and attempt to get lost in it a little. Most people are chitchatting with their friends, dancing stupidly, pretending to be drunk, or pretending they’re about to sneak into the bathroom to fuck purely to get a rise out of the teachers. Sure it takes all of half an hour for someone to start smashing apart glow sticks and smear the liquid around, which of course cause practically half his fellow teens -including him in all honesty- to follow suit, but that’s really par for the course at any Highschool dance worth it’s salt and ectoplasm. Besides, not like he actually had to wash his costume, fuck that he’ll just absorb the ectoplasm into his system; leaving the probably toxic glow stick juice though. He doesn’t have standards but he does have at least a mild desire to not intentionally poison himself. Regardless of the fact that his ectoplasm would just destroy whatever toxins anyway. Thinking of that though, maybe he could, like, drink one or two just to freak people out. It’s not a Casper party unless Danny Fenton does something weird and freaky, right? And pretending to get repeatedly trapped inside the mirrors and writing on them to be freed was so last year, like, _literally_ last year. Yeah fuck it, self-inflicted poisoning be damned, that’s what he’s doing this year. Meaning he promptly snaps one open and shotguns it while winking at one of the teachers he can easily see. They scowl and throw out their hands to the side. Mission accomplished already. Nice. 

Vaguely he wonders what the heck his friends are up to while he dances loosely and only absently aware of people around him. He knows neither’s coming, Tucker being grounded and Sam disliking the idea of school parties while also not being willing to tolerate one purely to keep Danny company. Which was fine, he could entertain and enjoy himself by himself just fine. And he gets that he can be a little much for most people, his friends included. But hey, they haven’t totally ditched him in life/half-life, so he’s going to consider it a plus. Tilting his head back to let some of the flashing beams periodically flash him straight in the eyes, how it made everything else blackout for a bit was a nice effect even if the light bordered on painfully bright for those split seconds. He gets his friends pulling away from him some, really it was hard for humans to be close with anything that wasn’t quite human enough. Same reason Vlad was utterly friendless, alongside being an evil nutcase anyway. Danny honestly doesn’t mind, honest, he’s perfected the loner act at least to some degree most of his life. He was always only close _enough_ with people to be able to include them in his social circle. Sure Sam and Tucker got almost unhealthily close and attached to him for a while there, but the whole ‘we almost killed you and need to protect your dumbass now because fuck, you _died_ ’ and ‘this hero thing is cool af’ things wore off real quick. Their friendship was effectively back to normal now, close but at arm's length. He liked the breathing space even if it was just slightly lonely. But again, as he spins and twists a little, he’s perfected the sorta-loner thing. 

He shotguns another little glow stick -that he’s pretty sure used to be wrapped around someone’s wrist- and lays spread out on the ground; not really giving a damn about occasionally being stepped on and waving off anyone who checks on him with a cheeky ‘I'm good’. That gets boring really quick though, especially as people just consciously know to avoid his spot on the floor now. He paused in his almost attempt to push himself up at hearing someone mutter, “ah yes! Finally got this stupid thing working”. Danny tilting his head at seeing something vibrate on the ceiling before making a hissing sound and spitting out fog. Ah, so they actually dished out for a fog machine? Oh wait, never-mind. It’s got a little green flaming F on it. Ah fuck, he should probably be worried about that, that F was probably ominous all things considered. But he can’t really be bothered to do more than watch it spit fog for a bit, fog machines were frickin’ awesome. He should totally buy one. Or make one. 

It don’t take long to hear a couple mildly impressed sounds over the fogging up air above everyone’s heads, and a few complaints about it apparently smelling like rotten lime juice and cat piss. Which yeah, definitely ominous. Weren’t fog machines supposed to smell like fake vanilla or something? Make you wonder just what the Hell the added strong vanilla was there to attempt at covering up. Maybe this was just what it smelled like _without_ the added vanilla. Doubtful and Danny’s hardly ever that lucky. Hence why he’s deciding staying on the floor is officially a good idea. Watching the effect with the lasers ‘n shit is cool as heck though. 

He absolutely can tell when the fog gets far enough and thick enough to reach him, ‘cause the ecto making up his costume gets just vaguely liquidy. Oh yeah, he should probably nope out of this situation. At the very least if this stuff destroyed his costume he’d be stuck in just his boxers and a wife-beater. No one needs to see that. Or more specifically, he doesn’t _want_ anyone to see that; considering all the scarring and the muscle he’s at least attempting to hide from the school at large. 

Deciding to sit up and immediately deciding that crawling would have been a better idea at feeling like someone just started jabbing tiny needles into his face, which he immediately winces at and gets up. Pushing his way past the people, some looking legitimately drunk or otherwise like hot garbage. Zone, _he_ probably looks drunk right about now since there is precisely zero chance he’s walking in a straight line considering how everything’s warping, bending, and pulsing. Yup, leave it to his parents to absently poison him at a seemingly basic normal high school dance. Lovely. 

Well at least he got to have a good time for a while there. Right now though? He so totally is going to throw up. It’s happening and it can either happen on the dance floor -gross and unpleasant for everyone around- or in the locker room/bathroom -also gross, in fact it’s just slightly more gross but less embarrassing. But it’ll be less gross for everyone else. Which, come on, other people kinda tend to be his priority. 

One stroke of luck though, the locker room is blessedly empty. Saving anyone from gross or just downright weird collateral when his costume effectively explodes in a sticky gooey ectoplasmic mess. Splattering all across the room while also sticking to him like some kind of disgusting vaguely sentient tar. Which effectively flings him into the centre of the room, smashing his back onto one of the benches, and makes wet slurpy suction noises when he lands on the ground properly. He absently thinks it was the single most comical stereotypical sounding ‘splat’ noise he’s ever heard, as he groans slightly. 

Unsticking his arm from the ground with wet thwap suction noises to shot his hand over his mouth as he gags. Ah yup, there’s the whole vomit thing he was talking about. Shit body, time to get up. Preferably, like, _now_. It takes an honestly ungodly amount of effort to peel himself off the floor, the black ectoplasm still sticking and stretching with him as he stagger walks to the bathroom and effectively throws himself at the toilet; smashing his head on the ceramic tank in the process. Because, apparently, vomiting wasn’t enough for him. No. He also needed to have a mild headache. Fun. 

It takes about three seconds before he feels like he’s hurling up his entire insides -which is a plausible theory- along with inner layers of flesh -also quite possible- and it glows ridiculously; that last one he can probably blame at least partly on the whole glow stick juice shooters idea of his. 

Blinking down into the toilet bowl and wheezing, single most interesting mixture of glowing colours he’s seen in a long-ass time. And oh, yup more vomiting. Ah fuck, Jesus. He shoulda stayed home. He straight up really does feel like his insides are just mildly being torn apart or maybe liquified. Which, considering his costume and it’s black splatter remains, might be legitimately accurate. Which is, like, super not good for his half ecto ass. The fuck’s he supposed to do about it though? He’s stuck with his head in a toilet, ironically splattering the inside of that bowl about as much as the rest of the place was already messy with ecto. 

He should at least _attempt_ to do something about this. His phone is fuck knows where in the black mess behind him. Ancients knows if it even still will work properly after getting effectively soaked in supremely sticky ectoplasm and probably thrown violently into something. Eh, nobody said his ass wasn’t creative; hacking up his innards or not. Electing to use some of the ectoplasm -he’s not going to question how the heck he’s able to consciously move the black ecto. Beyond that he probably absorbed it some, in some weird attempt to make up for the glow stick contaminated crap he’s been hacking up- to smear a little ‘get help’ and ‘preferably from my dumbass parents’ on the mirrors, since speaking is kinda out of the option here. Not that anyone will walk in here and not call for help; this was kinda noticeable after all. 

By the time someone does wander in he’s groaning into the stupid toilet -that he just mildly hates and feels way too friendly with at the moment- and feeling like his skin is going to bubble right off his muscles, his bones feel a little loose and wet too. Which, like, all that is a super supremely not good sign. Fuck, sometimes he wished his parents were just stupid rather than stupid smart. They wouldn’t be mildly good at actually hurting his ecto-ass otherwise. 

“Oh holy crap, what the fuck”. Whoever’s footsteps get closer and make squelching noises, “oh god ew, why is it so sticky? Ah ew”. Danny retches again just to make a point that would dude bro to hurry the fuck up. “Fuck. Fenton? Of course it’s you, and- oh well that’s actually worrying. Ah, I’m just gonna go call your folks. Jesus fuck. You are one poor son of a bitch, you know that?”. Danny obviously doesn’t reply to that beyond sticking up a kinda floppy saggy arm and flipping the guy off weakly. “Wow fuck, that’s- uh. Are you like dissolving or something. Why the fuck do I still live in this tow- oh yeah hi! I don’t know what’s up but Fen-Danny dude is going all exorcist in the school locker rooms. Also kinda looks like he exploded black tar everywhere and bones seem questionable at best and pretty sure the toilet is, like, glowing or some shit so maybe come and like get him? So someone doesn’t have to, like, tie a liquid Danny up in garbage bags”. Ancients, people are way too used to weird shit in this fucking town. 

Danny can almost hear his parents freaking the Hell out over the dudes phone, he would be actually able to hear it if it didn’t sound like he was underwater and actively sinking down deeper. This, decidedly, sucks. But he’s kinda good at the whole dissociating away the pain and other awfulness at this point. He feels it but like he’s watching himself feel it rather than directly feeling it. It’s a lot and kinda everything, but he’s not really there for it. 

He feels the guy try to pat his back or some shit, whatever it is it definitely doesn’t happen right and he can feel himself latching onto the dude and sucking out whatever bits of ectoplasm the dude’s carting around in his system -every Amity Parker was ecto-contaminates after all- and Danny’s body kinda just devours it for some more energy. “Oh god, congrats I’m officially disgusted. I mean, I already was but give me back my freaking arm. Cannibalism is so not your style. Jesus”. 

Both of them hear someone else opening the door. “I really wouldn’t, there’s some honestly nasty shit going on and this tar stuff is like fucking flypaper or some shit”. 

“Holy fuck! Okay this is kinda cool and super Halloween-esque. But yeah- oh fuck! Hell no!”. Danny can tell the black ecto -which, fuck, absolutely part of him now. Cool. He needed the energy anyway- has sorta bubbled and popped onto the new guy and grabs at him. Promptly absorbing more ecto from that dude and apparently his ecto has just decided that this is the course of emergency action. Decontaminate people via lowkey ecto-cannibalising them. Yeah this is his luck alright. Not that this is actually really making him any better, since he just keeps throwing whatever up. But hey, it’s keeping him from getting worse. That’s something. What he honestly doesn’t appreciate really is new guy running out of the bathroom and taking a stretchy string of black with him. Right back to the whole poison fog situation. So he makes a damn point to smack more ecto on the mirror, ‘fog machine off’. 

“Ah, you literally have not let go of my arm. But ah fuck, I’ll just text a friend. Fuck man”.

* * *

The dance outside goes into mild panic chaos mode as soon as a guy book’s it out of the locker rooms like he’s attempting to flee from the black thing grabbing him, which promptly just explodes and splatters everywhere. Coating, bubbling, crawling, and splattering all over the floor, walls, and multiple people. From there it practically spreads around like a freaking plague sticking from person to person. 

Someone does manage to get to one of the teachers though, “the, fog machine, it’s causing this, shit”. The teacher sighs, “of course something the Fenton's made is causing this”, and runs off. 

The chaos only gets worse when the Fenton’s themselves barge in, everyone pointing at the black stuff -which they can’t even be sure is ectoplasm at this point- or at the locker room doors. Which is enough to jerk the two hunters out of their shock and get them back to bolting to the locker rooms, which had been their goal to begin with. Meanwhile, the teachers attempt to free people from the sticky mess, fend the black stuff off, or control the chaos. Everyone wondering why the heck school dancers can literally never ever go off without a hitch.

* * *

Danny makes a point to smear up the mirror messages at just vaguely scenting his folks, while the dude mutters, “oh thank fuck”. Danny can practically feel the guy flailing around the arm that isn’t apparently stuck in him, which like mind trip right? Not that this entire event wasn’t already a bullshit trip and a half. 

Seconds later feeling a very solid hand on his shoulder as he retches a little more and feels dude guy get yanked away from him. Well obvious as shit what happened there. His folks suits _were_ ecto-phobic and ecto-proof after all. “Danny? Sweetie?”. Ah so that was his mom. Nice to know. He’d like to leave this entire situation now. Thank you very much. 

He can hear her scowl and sounding slightly less directly talking to him, “damnit. Looks like the ecto-repulsitory solution is affecting him. I _knew_ we should have tested it at home”. 

“There was hardly time Mads! Nothing for it now I guess!”. His dad freaking _laughs_. Cool. Glad they’re having fun. They could totally help him out here any minute now. Like, _any_ minute now. 

Those glow sticks were a bloody terrible idea, the toilet smells fucking _rank_ and he’s blaming it on that; he needs some kind of scapegoat after all, and it sure as shit wasn’t gonna be his ecto. 

Who he’s assuming is his mom pulls him back and he sorta collapses backwards -into what he’s just gonna assume is a blanket- rather bonelessly. Like, _literally_ boneless. As in, fuck he’s so totally a vaguely person-shaped sorta semi-solid liquid right now. Lovely. He should probably pull himself together before he scares the piss, shit and vinegar out of his folks. And hey, he’s not smelling or tasting the lime anymore so he might actually be successful at that. Though he makes some not particularly impressed or happy gag/grumbling noises at feeling his folks physically trying to tear off stuff from him. Probably the black ecto, which was kinda understandable at the moment. But fuck, that’s kinda all that’s feeding him ecto-energy at the moment so kindly fuck off yeah? He does manage to slur out, “ _mom_ ”, in an annoyed tone before gaging and coving his mouth with a very limp hand again. 

“Jack, bucket now”. Which yeah cool, he’s down for not throwing up all over himself. So fine, he appreciates the bucket as he hacks and gags some more. But at the very least the whole vomit ecto thing feels less thick and sticky, more vaguely like light water. Which may or may not be a good thing. But that’s pretty typical for, like, half the shit that happens to him these days. He gives his folks a little thumbs up when he’s done though. Partly to be an ass, partly to be reassuring. Those two things don’t seem like they can coexist, but by the Ancients do they ever. His mom takes the bucket away. 

Blinking his eyes open a bit blearily, noting being wrapped in a towel -an anti-ecto one specifically- like a little Danny burrito. Not that he was exactly edible. Zone, he very explicitly wasn’t edible. Considering how ectoplasm was pretty gosh darn toxic. Glancing around at the black sticky splattered everywhere, well damn he sure made one Hell of a mess. The poor fucking janitor. It looks like his folks successfully ripped it all off him and are using the blanket to keep it all off. Explains why he feels tired and energetically spent then. Wasn’t being fed/absorbing ectoplasmic energy any more. Eh oh well, not that he can really complain about that to his folks. Instead choosing to groan a little, “what have I told you guys, about not testing shit against, me and my shit, before using it, like this”. And really? They have had this conversation _dozens_ of times. Sure they _still_ -how they haven’t come across the idea of halfas yet is absolutely befuddling- thought he was just weirdly ecto-contaminated. But they _knew_ shit affected him and yet....

“Sorry Sweetie”. 

His dad laughs a little, “we were in a bit of a rush. Wanted to protect the dance from ghosts you know!”. 

Danny snorts, oh yeah, they so totally protected it from ghosts... by literally poisoning one. “Funny thing. Don’t think no ghost, has ever crashed, one of the dances. Usually you guys”. Ah Hell, he didn’t mean for that to sound kinda cutting; based on their slight grimaces it was at least somewhat hurtful. Which of course means now he’s gotta fix that. Fuck him. “Didn’t mean it, that way. Aw Hell whatever. Let’s just go home, yeah?”.

His dad scoops him up without any hesitation, “you sure Danny-boy?”.

Danny rolls his eyes tiredly, slumping bonelessly, “I doubt I’ll be, doing much more dancing”. Hell, was anyone? Judging by how they all kinda scuttle embarrassingly out of the locker room to a gym filled with only sticky black and people still yanking their limbs and shoes out of the tar-like ectoplasm. Why the heck the laser light show is still going on he doesn’t have the slightest clue. But hey, it looks pretty fucking cool, he’ll give it that. He kinda wanted to squirm out of his fabric confines and reach down to scoop some up, it was kinda part of him after all, but Ancients knows what in all is in that stuff at this point. Bits of other people’s contamination, fog poison, glow stick juice, generalised floor hunk, food and juice obviously, maybe even bits of people’s food. Yeah, he’s gonna give that one a hard pass. Plus his folks would freak at him. They didn’t exactly want him _more_ ‘contaminated’, after all. Still he gives an impressed whistle. One of the teachers scowling at him, “you just had to one-up yourself huh?”. Which Danny gives a cheeky lopsided and slightly melty smile at. 

Danny speaks back up as his folks settle him down in the GAV, “so, what’s that stuff supposed to do? What did it even do?”. He has a few ideas but better to let them explain themselves to him. Their intentions did matter at least a little. 

His dad perks up, “oh! It was supposed to disorient and discombobulate any ghosts! And make them unable to use abilities by making their ectoplasmic cells disjointed!”, then looking rather guilty, “I guess with you it made your more unusual ecto suffer some kind of disconnect with the rest of you. Like it made your body think it was rotten. Like food poisoning! And made your ecto ‘think’ your body was foreign so it tried dissolving it!”, tapping his chin, “not the slightest idea what was up with the black stuff clinging to you though”, and looks to his mom who shrugs. 

Danny will admit that shit was confusing as Hell, so fine that would make a suitable deterrent. Not so suitable when the thing it’s trying to deter can’t _fucking move away from it effectively though._ So major design flaw there. Ah well, with his less than pleasant -for everyone involved- reaction, they’ll probably scrap this particular experiment. Which is totally fine by him. He may as well satiate their curiosity a little, to avoid any repeat incidences at the least, “ah well, I may have went and made my costume out of some of that black purified experimental ectoplasm”. 

His mom blinks at him, “you did what???”, shaking her head in clear disbelief, though really they should expect this kind of stunt from him at this point, “sweetie, did you at least have _something_ protecting your skin?”.

Danny grins a little, “I used that spray stuff”, which wasn’t even a lie. Walking around a dance with literal purified ecto on him without spraying on some kind of barrier to keep it from hurting anyone would have been grade A stupid, even for him. And honestly? That probably saved his ass slightly, was probably why that ecto had been able to absorb other ecto at all instead of just being a liquid sticky mess. 

His mom taps her chin, “huh, the caustic interaction between the settled spray and fog formula must have caused the ectoplasm to coagulate and seek out energy sources”. Danny decidedly doesn’t say shit, let them think what they want. While she continues, “and you were its closest potential source but were obviously having a reaction yourself, so it just clung to you instead”. It would probably be mean of him to point at that it was kinda part of him at that point and that he could absolutely feel through it. Or that it wasn’t feeding itself but rather him. So that he, y’ know, would, like, pass out from energy loss or some shit. Passing out in a toilet, ugh that so would have been not fun. Thank you weirdly sticky black ecto stuff. 

Anyway, he yawns, because now he’s tired and would like to genuinely replenish all the ecto he hacked up. At least he was a bit more solid now though. That was a positive something. 

His mom smiles at him sweetly a bit as they get home, “I guess we best let you rest rather than spewing theories at you”, and nods at his dad, who swiftly and surprisingly smoothly scoops him up. Danny’s cool with this particular course of action, not making a fuss about his dad carrying him up to his room or his mom kissing him on the forehead afterwards. 

Eyeing his phone, naw, he’ll let his friends find out on their own and be confused for a bit. That’s what they get for sorta ditching him. 

* * *

_Nightshade: do I want to know how you ‘unleashed a black slime monster’ at the dance?_

_PDAxpda: ???_

_PDAxpda: ‘monster’ not ‘ghost’_

_PDAxpda: found photo the heckers_

_Nightshade: someone also mentioned you got drunk on glow sticks and vomited literal rainbows_

_Nightshade: nice asettic but yoyr a dumbass_

_PDAxpda: 💯 that shits toxic_

_PDAxpda: not that that matters to a certain someone_

_Dpain: 😉_

_Dpain: and I guess I kinda qualify as a monster_

_PDAxpda: I hate the implications there_

_Nightshade: that black shit was you wasn’t it you ass_

_Dpain: only vaguly_

_Dpain: nebulously_

_Dpain: margunally_

_Nightshade: I hate you_

_Dpain: 😏_

**End.**


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